


Shed

by nihilBliss



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Bulges and Nooks (Homestuck), Come Inflation, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, F/F, High On Cum, Intoxication, Married Rose Lalonde/Kanaya Maryam, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Metamorphosis, POV Second Person, Pregnancy Kink, Risk Aware Consensual Kink, Role Reversal, Rope Bondage, Size Difference, Strap-Ons, Strength, Vaginal Sex, Verbal Humiliation, Watersports, Xenophilia, excessive cum
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:07:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22167625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nihilBliss/pseuds/nihilBliss
Summary: Kanaya emerges from her final molt nearly eight feet tall and super horny. But as Rose is about to learn, she's done more than just grow larger, and their sex life will never be the same again.
Relationships: Rose Lalonde/Kanaya Maryam
Kudos: 110





	Shed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RoxyPop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoxyPop/gifts).



> all bets off, i plunge, only to find that self is shed

Steam pours out of the bathroom when you open the door. You've been in there for hours, stress-testing your apartment's water heater and getting your last intimate moments with the big, rough rock you've had to help with your molts. It'll be nice to have it gone, now that you're as big as you're going to get. You and Rose could both do with fewer stubbed toes.

You duck under the doorway and step into the hall before your wife, whose violet eyes go wide with desire as she drinks you in from horn to strutpod. It's to be expected; you did just walk out of a cloud of steam while standing nearly eight feet tall and glowing like a solar flare. She blinks, then shakes herself out of her reverie and grabs you by the hand. What comes next is something of a routine: your wife, overcome with lust, will insist that she fuck you before you start to consume your shed carapace for energy. Not that you mind; there's a burning need in your core that isn't hunger.

She lashes your arms and legs to the inconspicuous metal bars of the bedframe, face up. You're not sure when she put her harness on, but you know that it's the silicone troll bulge she's selected to use on you today as she runs the tip between the lips of your nook. It's her favorite way to tease you, though she'll end up using fingers or tongue first. Either way, you're usually sodden as the sea when she starts.

But today is different. Sure, your bulge is straining to slip free of its sheath before you're all the way dilated, but you don't even feel restrained by these flimsy cords, much less excited. You feel less sexy and vulnerable than awkward. And Rose isn't coming across as domineering in her predatory lust, though she's slipped into that role as naturally as ever. She's more... vulnerable? No, vulnerable is the last word you'd ever use for your wife, but with how she carries herself, you're not sure you understood how  _ delicate _ she is compared to you before now. You lick your lips and find yourself simmering in your need.

She runs her fingers along the soft tissue around your hole. Her soft human fingertips know exactly where to touch to make you sing, and she can make of you an opera. Tonight, though, your performance is more of a recitativo secco than a proper, full-bodied aria. You force a groan and try to get yourself into it, but something isn't harmonizing.

"Are you enjoying yourself, my dearest?" Rose asks, sitting on her haunches. It's not really a question; she can read you as well as you read yourself.

"You are performing marvelously, my little lightning bug, but I do not seem to be responding as I usually do," you say. "Perhaps my latest molt will require some adjustments."

"I'm happy to learn how to make love to you all over if I have to," said Rose. "Why don't I grab you a glass of water and we take a moment?"

"I'd like that," you say, smiling. She presses a kiss to you, and, not thinking, you wrap an arm around her. You both start at the loud snap. Without noticing, you've split the cord binding your arm to the bed. Rose stares at the frayed end still tied to your wrist, alarmed and... her face looks warmer than before. That couldn't be arousal, could it?

"Let me get these for you..."

She rushes to unbind your other three limbs, skipping the kisses she always plants where the cords lay. Snatching a glass from the bedside table, she scampers into the bathroom. You untie the snapped bond around your wrist. It's the same climber's rope you've always used, made to stop a falling human and more than strong enough to keep you bound before. Grabbing both ends, you pull, and it snaps with little effort.

"You've gotten stronger."

Rose stands in the doorway, pink-cheeked and holding your water. She's not trying to hide how much that fact turns her on. Ideas propagate through your mind, and you glow a little. Maybe there are one or two you can use in there.

"My dear, would you be interested in having me take lead in our mating this evening?"

Rose only sometimes wants to bottom, but when she does, she likes to be in charge. But you can smell her need. You see every goosebump on her skin, even across the dim room. The rulebook has gone out the window.

"Let's try that," she says, offering you the cup. You drain it, set it aside, and lift her in your arms. Her eyes go wide, and she grins as if in a soporific stupor as you bring her to your face for a kiss. Her excitement is infectious, and you giggle as your lips meet. Your bulge slips free of your sheath, and your body hums with anticipation and pleasure. 

For a moment, you recall in detail that summer before your wedding, when you begged Rose to accompany you on your first roller coaster. There was that moment when you and she were over the hump and staring down the hill, one last slow moment before gravity made true the promise of the drop.

You lower your wife to the bed, then kneel between her legs. Her eyes shoot wide when she sees your bulge, and you look down. It's reaching just past your bellybutton as it always has - but, then again, you're nearly a foot and a half taller than when last you looked. You wonder if it will still fit inside her as nicely as it used to. You're eager to find out.

Recapturing her gaze, you pinch the tip between your fingers and tease her glistening labia with it. She quivers, and your body screams at you to take her with the urgency baked into your thinkpan by the schoolfeeds of your dead homeworld. You capitulate, guiding the tip home and running your thumb through the wild mess of brassy hair atop her mons. The way she quivers at your touch stokes your fires. You press yourself in, and heat only builds in your loins.

Rose's eyes unfocus, and she yelps. There's pain in that sound underneath the pleasure, and you know you should pull out. But your hips won't do what you know they should; the insect part of your brain that craves sex as the drowning crave air locks you in place. Your wife, expression taut, puts a hand to your breast.

"Kanaya," she manages, hand quivering. "I don't believe I'm in control of myself right now."

She bites her lower lip, sucks on it. You sink your writhing bulge deeper into her warmth, and she twitches. You can't recall seeing her quite like this before. It's almost scary, and you can't remember being more in love with her than you are right now.

"Will you please take care of me?"

She's saying so much in those seven little words, more than her loquacious rambles ever have. Your higher self begs to stay in this moment forever and dissect every delicate meaning. But your higher self moves too slowly - by the time you understand its desires, you're already hip to hip with Rose and fucking her with that coarse thrusting humans are accustomed to. Her mouth hangs slack, and she's whining out of time with your thrusts. You feel your body burning with need, and it's all your conscious mind can do to restrain yourself so you don't break her with your newfound strength.

Rose has never felt so wonderful as this, her kegels failing to grip your slick tentabulge but her tightness more than you can bear all the same. You won't last; and you can't bring yourself to hold back. Mouthparts you never use rub in the back of your throat, rattling and chirring, and your bulge goes wild inside of your wife's stuffed-full cunt. It spirals, painting every wrinkle inside of her with jade. Pleasure drops your mind into a simmering sea of sensation, swallows you in hormones and whore-moans.

When some presence of mind returns to you, your wife is burbling and tugging impotently at your hand, trying and failing to pull your twitching thumb away from her clit as pleasure saps strength that already pales next to your own. You're not sure when you started doing that, but you let it go, and she goes limp, still twitching around your bulge. The gentle swell of her lower abdomen looks fuller than usual - you rest your palm against it and aren't sure if it's your fluid or your bulge responsible, but her skin feels stretched.

"You almost feel gravid," you say. Her eyes meet yours - they're dilated, black as the new moon and twice as wide - and she whines a little whine of acknowledgement. She has said she feels a little loopy when you come inside of her or when she swallows your issue. You should pull out and wrap her in blankets, get her something to drink. But you're not thinking clearly just yet, and there's still a burning need in you.

"I would like to go again. Is that okay?"

"I feel kinda funny," she says, a little distant as if she were tipsy on the human alcohol she swore off nearly six sweeps ago.

"Goodness, my love, I should pull out, and do you need water? I'll get..."

Despite her best efforts, she can't lock her ankles together behind you anymore, but you get the idea.

"You're taking excellent care of me, dearest," she says. "I trust you."

There's a switch in your brain that goes from one to zero. You pull out just long enough to flip her onto her belly, and jade green spills onto the sheets from the weight of your thrust and the girth of your bulge when you stuff yourself back in. She yelps, but it's dissolved in a deep and shameless groan as your bulge writhes and curls within her.

"That's my beautiful slut," you say. It's shocking to hear coming from your mouth, but Rose rocks back against you and shivers all over.

"Oh, does Rose like that?"

"Uh-huh," she says, one fist gripping the sheets as the other worms its way beneath her hips, ready to press her button when needed.

"Does my goddess wife who's always been so dominant like being reduced to a squirming  _ whore?! _ "

You jerk your hips forward with that final syllable, and she whines. Any reservations in your mind wash away, and you dive deep into carnal instinct, dragging her down with you. You gyrate and grind your hips against hers, letting the wrist-thick base of your bulge spread her labia wider than her groaning, panting mouth. She comes hard around you for... well, you weren't really counting before, so you'll start now. One orgasm for Rose Lalonde.

"Xenophiliac cunt," you whisper into her ear. "I bet you'd spread your legs for any alien, wouldn't you? Anything strange and bizarre. None of your own kind would want to touch you now that you've sullied yourself with another species."

Rose nods, agreeing, but her voice is half elsewhere, like she's stoned on your cum as you prepare her next hit.

"What's next for you? Presenting your befouled hole for horrorterrors?"

Another whine.

"Letting them breed you and sic their half-human spawn on this poor world?"

She paws at her clit. It takes nothing for her to come again - orgasm number two.

"Is that what you want? Do you want to be a broodmother for some horrible parasitic species? Give up your dignity completely?"

Rose all but cries with assent, and you feel feverish as you coil within her. You're not far from your own second climax.

"I bet you'd love to have this whole fucking planet watch you debase yourself. They'd probably take photos of you spread-legged and groaning as you push masses of nacreous tentacles out of your wretched hole. Do you want your cunt spawning monstrosities to be the image people think of when they hear your name?"

She yelps and rubs her clit to her third climax. She's burbling as much as groaning; you shove your fingers past her drool-slicked lips and into her mouth.

"It's like you want to be fucked here, too," you say, voice undulating. You're so close, but you know she doesn't have space for another of your loads - and yet you can't bring yourself to stop.

Your second hits you harder than the first, and your back goes taut as joyful rivers flow through you from beyond yourself and into your wife. They sweep you away and drown you in her and her in you, a sea of glowing gold and white and rainbows that transcends you both. She's squealing and sucking on your fingers with incoherent desperation, all eloquence and control taken by the rapids that have swept your higher self away.

There's wet all over your crotch when you become more aware of your body - and of the burning need that demands you go again. But there's a smell, something acrid and sharp. You reach beneath Rose, investigating your suspicions, and feel something warmer than your slurry.

"Is my wife pissing herself?"

You laugh as she whines. Her head's empty, and her abdomen is so full of your slurry there's no space for anything but you.

"You are pathetic," you say. "Such a low and base creature."

"Uh-huh," she says, drunk on your love, and you run your fingertip along her lips.

"I suppose there's no point in trying to alter your vulgar appetites. I'll just have to indulge you until you're satisfied," you say. She grins, and drool runs down your fingers. You remind yourself to look up the long-term effects of troll cum on the human body at large doses. Better to know how far you can push her like this. But you've got plenty of wiggle room tonight, and there's a very needy slut still wrapped around your bulge.

* * *

Rose sleeps through the night and the next day, and it's evening again before she waddles out of the bedroom in one of your old nightgowns, belly distended like she's entering month nine. You're in the kitchen, relearning how to operate a human stove at your new height. She sits down at the table, and you smile at her as if nothing were out of the ordinary.

"Breakfast is almost ready, love. Pancakes and coffee?"

Rose nods, blinking the sleep from her eyes. You set a mug full of light, sweet brew before her, and she drains it with aplomb.

"Thank you, my love," she says, drowsy but lucid. You pull a plate from the warm oven and set it before her, with butter and maple syrup already at hand.

"Of course, my beloved. I assumed you would be hungry when you woke up," you say.

"As usual, you are far too good to me," she says. Then she looks at the plate of pancakes. She cocks her eyebrow, then looks at you, asking without words why exactly these pancakes are piled a dozen high.

"I hope that's enough," you say. "You're eating for two, after all."

She goes pink and stares down girlishly. It's a joke, of course. If there were any way for your species to interbreed, you would have chanced upon it some time ago. But you know things about Rose nobody else may know and live. You titter under your breath as you flip another fresh-made pancake onto your own plate. Rose grumbles as she busies herself with buttering her pancakes.

"Love you too, Rose."

**Author's Note:**

> Commissioned by LalondeLesbian. Edited by LumenInFusco.


End file.
